Verdant Memoir, Or, Memories of Verdant Times
by A.H. Kistunov
Summary: The memoirs of Ardell Noir, Hedge Alchemist, and the story of Guild Crimson's journey to the heart of Yggdrasil. Also a story about birdsong, moonlight, love, fear, and fire. Six intertwining stories of self-discovery. The first game left a lot open to the imagination in terms of world history and characters. I took some artistic license with it. I hope that you enjoy it!
1. Ardell Noir: Lapin 13, Year 1214

[This work is inspired by the images, gameplay, and story of Atlus's _Etrian Odyssey, _as well as its sequels.]

You find yourself again in Wyvern's Roost Tavern after an unsatisfying day of bird-watching. Few birds exist to flutter through the wilderness these days. Even fewer are bold or foolish enough to sing, but there are people, perhaps you among them, who would kill to hear just one more birdsong.

The bartender, Maurice, sees you coming as he sets out your regular evening meal. He asks if he can pour you anything.

"There was a trader in here earlier, selling books and things. I bought something for you, something to occupy your mind besides those damned birds of yours."

Nice of him, eh? He drops, with a plop, a thick, black, leather-bound tome. It is tied with a leather belt, which is easily enough undone. A biscuit gripped between your teeth, you open it up to the first page. It is a bracket of time: "Lapin 13, Year 1212 to Lapin 13, Year 1214 – From Ethereal Academy to Etria and back again."

You nearly choke on your biscuit. Ethereal Academy is supposed to be nothing more than a myth. The book in front of you must be fiction, you assure yourself.

There is a challenge below the bracket of time: "If you are like me and wish to penetrate this decaying world's secrets, read on. If you are so convinced by the implications of 'myth' as to be blind, then sell this book posthaste – it has nothing for you."

Still coughing, you turn the page and read on. The first pages are dingier than the rest and are torn around the edges. They seem to have been stuck into the journal after the rest of it had been written. The weak, reddish glue used to stick it into the journal is giving out, and so you must turn the pages gingerly…

Lapin 13, **Abandoned Cave Near Ethereal Academy**, Year 1214

My first memories are of fire – of a white hot, all consuming, uncontrollable passion. At first it was weak, blind, and searching - like some newborn, cavern dwelling creature. But as the years passed the creature grew stronger and opened his eyes, and with them his ears, and he turned his attention to the mouth of his cavern home. From outside, in the vast, unending wilderness, he heard the call of power and he saw the blinding light of truth. Filled with the discovery of a new direction, he burst out of his cavern in a torrent of violence, like a lightning bolt, and realized that his destiny was to devour this infinite expanse of mystery that had been hidden from him for so long. Nothing occult will survive his wake.

I will satisfy this hunger of mine, I will feed this fire within me, or else I will be overwhelmed by it.

Today is my twenty-fifth birthday. I am reminded on this occasion of a story I once heard from one of my mentors here at the Academy. According to an ancient myth, the world is a giant walnut. As the nut ages and as the corrupting bile of mankind spreads across its surface, it will inevitably begin to rot…and as it rots, the ancient myth holds, pieces of its outer shell will begin to crack and fade away. The world will become less habitable, more and more fractured, until the shell of the world has become soft and bruised like the chest of a dying man. Vegetation will shrivel up and wilt, the seas will evaporate, the sky will become clouded and the sun will cease to smile. Just as it seems as if the world is to end, though, the world's shell will split and fall away – revealing a miracle, a divine truth which will envelope every living thing. I hear this truth calling to me in my dreams. When I close my eyes, sometimes I can behold the miracle. There is a piece of something divine inside of me, longing to make itself whole. That is not to imply that I myself am somehow divine…just that I long to submerge myself in the feeling of revelation.

We are living in a time of great rotting. Farms are drying up. Wild beasts run rampant through a malignant wilderness which is encroaching upon civilization. Sometimes the alchemists of the Academy receive a distress call from a city far away, and by the time they arrive to provide assistance the entire settlement has been destroyed by twisted, black, razor-branched trees. These engulfed lands, called "The Reclaimed" are always abandoned. When a body is found, and it is always a body and never a living soul, it is usually in such a state as to be unidentifiable. "Torn to ribbons", some of my more poetic colleagues say when they sadly shake their heads. "The earth revenges upon us."

But they only care for their poetry. And no matter how sweet, poetry will never satisfy me.

I studied here at Ethereal Academy for nearly fifteen years. I have studied countless tomes of alchemy, biology, ecology, mathematics, and history - and yet I have not even nearly exhausted the Academy's sources, nor have I studied as much as my colleagues. I have worked closely with elderly men and women who have devoted their entire lives to the study of myth - of that mist which humans have spread over true history so as to make the realities of life more palatable. You may imagine that this sentence is a bitter one, but I tell you it is not. Life is full of frightening realities, and I begrudge no man his right to soften the blows of cruel destiny upon his mind and soul.

In fact, I am particularly fascinated with myths because they are the key to illuminating the truths I wish to chase.

Notice that I have addressed you. This is not some sort of fantasy wish-fulfillment I am penning. This is not a journal in which I can create my own myth, generate my own mist to settle over my broken failure of a history. If you are reading this, it means that I am dead. If you are not a poet, if you are not an apathetic, if you are one of this world's true sons or daughters, you must continue in my footsteps. I am sorry to say, however, that first you must allow me a single indulgence – you must retrace my path, see what I have seen, learn what I have learned, feel what I have felt before our quest will have any meaning.

Tonight, I lie beaten and bloody in a cave approximately five kilometers from Ethereal Academy. Outside, it is raining. I can hear the patter of raindrops upon the parched Reclaimed earth, though I cannot see it. I can smell the deathly black soil as it recoils in horror from the possibility of purification. Is it raining where you are as well?

Hidden in one of the world's few remaining natural forests, far, far from the Academy, southwest of the Tellius Range and just north of Lake Agajio, is a village called Etria. The first crack has formed there, and they call it the Yggdrasil Labyrinth. At its very bottom is not a miracle, but the echo of a miracle. Travel to Etria, learn what you can about the Labyrinth, and then begin to read my journal.

I can hear footsteps outside of the cavern now, hissing upon the ground quite unlike the rain. They are either the footsteps of my companions or of my executioners. Either way, they will not find this journal. You will.

-Ardell Noir


	2. Noir: Lapin 13 to 15, Year 1212

[This work is inspired by the images, gameplay, and story of Atlus's _Etrian Odyssey, _as well as its sequels.]

Another day of bird watching. You are in your favorite spot: cradled between a mesh of tree branches about midway up an adult oak, as if lying in someone's arms. The sunlight is warm and the breeze is tepid, and the way that the leaves on the trees are rustling reminds you of a lullaby. You've brought a comfortable padding to lay on and enough food and water to last the entire day. It's amazingly hard not to fall asleep, but reminding yourself of how high up you are seems to be doing the trick.

Maurice has given up trying to direct you towards more productive ways of spending your free time. This morning, for instance, he only chuckled and shook his head.

"You'll never find anything out there, you know? All you'll get for your trouble is a nice view. You should spend more time helping your family…"

Of course you should. But you aren't, and you've made that choice. This is a matter of a personal passion.

Which reminds you of the journal that Maurice gave to you last night. Since the birds are stubbornly refusing to make any appearances, and since you therefore have some free time and a beautiful reading environment, you decide to go deeper into the journal. A drop of guilt runs through you like ice water, followed swiftly by a hot chaser of pleasure, at the thought that you are directly disobeying the author's wishes by not traveling to Etria first. Perhaps you need more convincing.

Lapin 13, **Ethereal Academy**, Year 1212, Birthday Reflections/Shigo

For nearly fifteen years now I have studied at the Academy. You might say that the best years of my life have been spent here among the dusty tomes and rusty machinery of the Ethereal. You might say that the Academy raised me, has shaped me into the man I've become. I might say those things too. But the Academy has shaped me into a man who it will soon become dissatisfied with, just as I have become dissatisfied with it. And so my home is a broken one, my family dysfunctional in the extreme. This is fine with me. Nothing good can come of being tethered down to an institution, and no leash is long enough to justify living as any organization's dog.

What have I learned here at the Academy? A good question, and one deserving of a qualifier: intention. I have learned as many things unintentionally as I have intentionally here at the Academy.

The Reclamation continues to ravage the wilderness around us. I don't know if the rest of this planet is infected to the degree that the area around the Academy is, but if so then the entire human race is in danger. The land is becoming infertile, the water is drying up…People can't grow enough food to eat or to support livestock, and are becoming restless. Some days, judging by the messages we get here at the Academy, a general collapse of government seems imminent. People are scared, and rightly so. I'm scared too.

The most terrifying lands are known as "the Reclaimed". The soil turns the color of pitch and cracks underfoot. It smells foul, like rotting pig flesh, in the rain it hisses at the slightest contact. Vegetation withers and lies flatly dead on the ground or else becomes ravenous, sharp, and bloodthirsty. There's a fern near Tremonde, called by the locals "Yvette" after an infamous murderer, which has become seemingly intelligent and will skewer with its blade-like fronds any man, woman, or child who approaches it too closely. That's how horrifying this whole thing is: people are characterizing the land as a murderer. We are at war with a soil that no longer wants us here.

Whole cities have been attacked by the Reclaimed vegetation. Black trees burrowed into the ground near the Lemerry forest and, two weeks later, struck out of the cobbled streets of Maxima like breaching whales. Not long after, the trees had completely taken over the city. They had grown into the storefronts; spread their branches through every home, barracks, and place of government. When a taskforce arrived from the Academy, the walls were covered in thorny vines. Out of the vines were sprouting white flowers with brilliant crimson veins, like bloodshot eyes. I'll never forget the look of those thousands of eyes, crawling all over me, analyzing my every breath. We didn't find a single living thing inside the city. Whoever hadn't left during the initial breakthrough of the trees had simply vanished.

Everywhere cities are being Reclaimed and dragged into the wild-wastes. From every corner of this nation, the people are crying to the Academy for help…and all we send are taskforces, coroners to bring samples back to what may as well be called a morgue instead of an Academy. It makes me sick to my stomach, the way some of my colleagues talk. Some people, would you believe it, are actually _excited_ by the Reclamation. Some people are so desperate for something new to study that they seem to have forgotten that the lives of innocent citizens are on the line. I hope to the gods that I never become so consumed, so lost, as they are.

I've been studying myths lately, trying to find something, anything, to point me in the direction of some kind of help. It's not much, and my professors often tell me that I'm wasting valuable time, but I feel like something this catastrophic must have some root in mythology. If I can find something mythical about this calamity, maybe I can find some mythical cure as well. Once I've found a mythical cure, it'll just be a matter of separating reality from metaphor before, hopefully, some good can be done.

I find scraps here and there, but have found nothing conclusive yet. Most intriguing is Professor Darnton's story of the "World-Nut" and the "Great Tree of Life". Why intriguing, you ask? I've heard the story countless times before and, while it always struck a personal chord, I had never considered it relevant to the Reclamation. Let me explain.

Two weeks ago I was sent on a taskforce to the Reclaimed city of Shigo. I was joined by Bellatrix, Mordred Conning, Seras Limberpool, and Professor Alexei Vertrus. Bellatrix was her usual self. That is, she was a complete ass leading up to and during the investigation. Even before we left, she felt the need to take me aside and ask me not to do anything irrational. "Irrational"? I couldn't understand her. She's never had the same respect that I do for the mythology, so perhaps she was trying to curb my "irrational" fascinations. I wasn't about to let her get in the way of my personal projects, though. Not everyone at the Academy has a morbid obsession with the Reclamation but the people in power do, and the people in power have still more people within their power who are obligated to follow orders. I still haven't figured out whose power Bellatrix is under. Part of the problem is that she's never seemed like the type to be _under_ anyone's influence – she has always been a mover, or one of the unmoved.

We arrived at the city to find that the Reclamation had reached Stage 3, the point just before the walls would be envined. I'd spent a very personal summer in Shigo once, a year ago, and so this experience was particularly painful for me. There was a bakery near the broken, open gates to the city proper.

"I took a barmaid on a date there last summer. Just last summer she'd been telling me all about her plans to travel to Armoroad and across the sea, and now look," I said.

"How did you convince a barmaid to spend more than five seconds with you, let alone to go on a date with you?" Bellatrix asked, perhaps teasingly. There was a hint of a smile on her face. The others found this amusing. Or perhaps they were laughing simply out of a desire to be polite to Bellatrix. I can't imagine why any normal human being would tease like she did. Hotly, I turned on them.

"Have some respect. She's probably dead now, you know?"

This seemed to touch Bellatrix.

"I'm sorry…" she said, looking at me with eyes full of pity.

"It's nothing personal," I lied quite openly. "It's just a matter of respect. I don't appreciate you making jokes at the expense of the dead. This is an entire city's loss of life we're witnessing, and not a single body in sight."

Bellatrix was quiet then. I can't explain it, but she seemed somehow "satisfied" with my answer. There's no other word for it. It was as if I'd given a professor the correct answer to a question during one of my pre-alchemy lessons. It was that look of hers, as if she wanted to pat me on the head. It was infuriating.

But enough about Bellatrix.

We toured the city before, at last, in the mayor's manor, we found a single body. It had been nearly ripped to shreds by some kind of force, and the face was distorted and warped like a piece of melted and clumsily reshaped iron. Mordred was quick to become infirm from the smell alone.

Professor Vertrus and I searched the body, and besides scraps of cloth and the remnants of some kind of armor we didn't find much at first. An investigation of the body revealed that it was covered in pins which, to me, did not look like splinters of wood. I noticed that parts of the cloth were also singed. I told the group that I didn't believe mere trees had killed the man. Professor Vertrus and Seras disagreed with me almost immediately, believing the pins to be thorns and the singed cloth to be evidence of the use of some kind of natural acid. Bellatrix, after investigating the body, supported my hypothesis. In fact, she identified the pins as _quills_, typical of smaller, spiny creatures like hedgehogs. They were larger than a normal hedgehog's quills, but they were quills all the same. We collected some samples so that they could be identified later, and it was then that I made my great discovery. A note, written on a scrap of parchment, was pinned to the man's chest under his shirt, in a concealed pocket. It read:

…_is next. Sources in Etria indicate that the incomplete Project is having adverse effects. Evacuate the city, get to somewhere safe, send…_

Interesting, right? "Adverse effects"? "Incomplete Project"? I know where Etria is, and I plan on digging around the international journals and old books in the library to learn more about it. I also recall the Academy receiving a large sheaf of paperwork from Etria, advertising the "Yggdrasil Labyrinth" – a massive underground forest which, while not malignant, seems to be exhibiting qualities similar to Reclaimed lands. The Academy found it interesting, and irresponsible, that Etria would advertise the area as an "adventurer's paradise" instead of sealing it off and possibly preventing their town from being destroyed. I myself found the idea of a benign section of Reclaimed land to be very intriguing. There could be something to learn from studying the Labyrinth. But the Academy decided that since Etria is so far away and since the Labyrinth is passive and benign, there was no reason to make any form of inquiry beyond a shrug of the shoulders and a bit of waterhole gossip.

The Academy is looking for new ways to conduct investigations into the Reclamation these days. Perhaps, with a little luck, I will be able to convince the upper administration, The Council of Seven, to lend me a taskforce to investigate Etria further. I pocketed the note without, I assumed at the time, anyone noticing.

Investigation is certainly warranted. Professor Vertrus is still analyzing the samples we took from Shigo, but I'm positive that those quills came from an animal and that that cloth was burned. That means that these trees, if they're coming to life like "Yvette", are somehow also able to bring animals under their control. And they're somehow able to use the elements as a weapon – Alchemy – without the use of an Ex Nihilo Device.

"The earth revenges upon us," some of my more poetic colleagues say. My experiences in Shigo and in other cities have caused me to wonder…is that so? Does the earth revenge itself upon us? The trees and the vegetation, the very children of the soil, have seemingly come alive. And now they may be able to control the lesser beasts of the earth. Have the people of the cities vanished into the earth, to become her slaves? Or were they murdered, as it appeared in Shigo, by the servants of the earth?

Professor Darnton has told me two legends that intrigue me based on my investigations of Shigo and other Reclaimed cities – the legend of the "World-Nut", and the legend of "The Great Tree of Life". The legend of the World-Nut claims that one day, a great corruption will spread across the earth, caused by human hands. The earth will rebel and strike back at the humans. At the moment when it seems most likely that humanity will be extinguished and when it seems certain that the earth will wither, die, and fall away like rotten pieces of a walnut's shell, the earth will crack open to reveal "a divine truth, which will envelop all living things". I have no idea what this could mean, but the situation that the legend describes seems similar, in some ways, to the Reclamation.

The legend of The Great Tree of Life is more obscure. According to the legend, there is a great tree, Yggdrasil, somewhere outside of this world. Upon its branches sit nine separate worlds – whole universes contained like the water within a drop of dew or the flesh within a piece of fruit – and ours is one of them. A branch of Yggdrasil is said to exist somewhere in our world, maintaining the natural world with its super-magical energy. It is said that if the branch of Yggdrasil were ever to become corrupted, or if its burden of world-purification were ever to become too strenuous, it would be clipped by what I prefer to refer to as the "Eternal Gardner". When a branch dies or otherwise endangers the survival of the plant, it must be clipped, goes the reasoning. If a branch of Yggdrasil were clipped, then the world sitting on it would die.

Now, the Great Tree of Life Yggdrasil reminds me of the note I found and of Etria's Yggdrasil Labyrinth. A "Project" is having "adverse effects". This note must have been delivered from afar – its language suggests that the person it was delivered to was being ordered to evacuate _his_ city, as opposed to the sender's city. Therefore the adverse effects have a wide-range. I must conclude that the adverse effects are the Reclamation. As one who has investigated many Reclaimed cities, I can safely say that, yes, the effects are wide-spread. Now what could this mysterious "Project" be? Perhaps the myth of the Great Tree of Life is speaking about some source of power. I do not necessarily believe that there is a tree like Yggdrasil…but I do believe that it is possible that there is some source of alchemical and biological energy which may have become corrupted, and which may be disrupting life on this continent. Perhaps it is an incomplete alchemical experiment? I will have to research this.

Lapin 14, **Ethereal Academy**

They still aren't done analyzing the samples. I took the Ex Nihilo Device (the "E.N.D." as we call it) out for a spin to make sure I wasn't getting rusty. My aim is still perfect, but my formulas seem to be a little weak. I'll have to make some adjustments and do some more studying this weekend.

Bellatrix was also in the courtyard practicing with her E.N.D. They're big, purple and orange gauntlets that extend up to the elbows. They come with receptors installed in the arms, used to input formulas, and they have a converter installed in each palm which renders a formula (input through the receptors) into an elemental energy (which exits through the converter). The common combat formulas are electricity, fire, poison, and ice – they require few ingredients and you can run an E.N.D. for a full day, if you need to, with a single formula conversion – assuming regular, and not overly strenuous or frequent, use of the Device. It is also true that "the fresher the formula, the stronger the output", so there are reasons to reuse formulas over the course of a single day.

[_A sketch of, presumably, Noir wearing his E.N.D. gauntlets is on the opposite page. Written hastily below the sketch is "Some alchemists have taken to naming their gauntlets in a show of extreme vanity." Next to the left-hand gauntlet is printed, in stylized script "The Left One" and next to the right-hand gauntlet is likewise printed "The Right One"._]

Combat formulas are not the only ones that alchemists can perform. There are a variety of other formulas which are useful for more constructive purposes. More and more are being invented every day.

Bellatrix is a fire specialist, while I prefer to study electricity. At any rate, she always looks ridiculous in her titanic gauntlets. More so because she has kept her "training wheels" - large, serrated, brass blades which extend from the outside edges of the gauntlets to ease the physical strain that the conversion process has on the body. She must have noticed me eyeing her at the firing range, chuckling to myself, because she approached me.

"I know what you found yesterday, and I think that it's very irresponsible of you not to report it to the Seven," she said. There were several other students practicing with us, so I was naturally quick to quiet her. It was rude of me, but being caught so off guard by her I could not help but nearly clamp a gauntleted hand over her mouth. She was not in the slightest disturbed by this, however, so perhaps she understood that she had committed a faux pas.

"Quiet down, keep your mouth shut! Do you want the entire Academy to hear that I'm keeping secrets from the upper administration?" I hissed. Impudent as ever, Bellatrix nodded.

"I've half a mind to tell everyone this instant. In order to make a good plan, you have to acquire the proper intel. We file reports on everything we find in the Reclaimed cities so that we can take action later. And besides, secrets are dangerous here at the Academy – you could be in possession of something more dangerous than the Reclamation."

"I doubt that the Academy would ever act on a scrap of paper. Dangerous information? There's no such thing to me," I scoffed and began to remove my gauntlets. In the sunlight, lying on the small counter before my target-practice booth, I was reminded of how infrequently I polish the damned things. They're absolutely covered in scratches.

[_A note is written in the margins: "Clean 'em up! Buy some polish from town tomorrow…who are you kidding, you won't go to town tomorrow…"_]

"There is such a thing for the rest of us. We have an administration for a reason, Ardell. I know that Shigo was a sensitive place for you…"

I could not hold back. My temper, I fear, often gets the best of me in the moment. Someday it will cost me more than just a casual friendship.

"Don't presume. You know nothing about how sensitive Shigo was for me," I snapped.

…I've left most of this information out until now, but it _was_ a sensitive investigation. It was not, as Bellatrix may have believed, a simple affair with a barmaid that had made me so tender towards the city. Walking through that desolate town, seeing the bloodstains on the walls and feeling the eyes of countless red-veined flowers upon me…all I could think about were the merchants, the children who used to play in the fountain, the town drunk who used to sing, unfailingly each night, from the roof of The Hunter's Respite to "the moon, my love, my sweet, my – hic – dear Luna dear."

Bellatrix will never understand how eerie it is to see familiar ghosts in a familiar town outlined in blood. She spends all of her time here at the Academy, devoted to her studies. Admirable, but that combined with her unpersonable personality often gives me cause to wonder if she even has a home, or family, or friends outside of the Academy.

Bellatrix left me alone after I snapped at her. I must have conveyed some of my dislike for her through my very pores, because she did not approach me for the rest of the day. We're two sides of the same coin, destined to never see eye to eye, and I'm comfortable with it staying that way.

Lapin 15, **Ethereal Academy**

[_There are notes here, just above the date: "Etria – small town north of Agajio. 'Yggdrasil Labyrinth' source of most income. Boom town. 'Labyrinth'?" and some coordinates, which you must assume correspond to a specific map._]

Have discovered more interesting things about Etria. Far away, through the Duchy of Grularde and the Principalities of Etrune and Acea, almost all the way to High Lagaard (but not quite that far), is a true natural forest. Within this forest is the town of Etria. The Academy has received no reports of malignant Reclamation activity from so far away, and this could indicate one of, or both of, two things:

1. The Academy is not considered an authority in Etria, and so there would be no precedent for reporting local troubles.

Although Etria sent a message regarding their "Labyrinth", this was not a call for help and it was not sent exclusively to the Academy. It may as well be considered an advertisement to a macabre adventurer's carnival.

2. Etria has already been Reclaimed, and so there is no one left to report any troubles.

If the Labyrinth had ceased to be passive and contained and had instead become malignant, it is likely that the destruction of Etria would be swift, bloody, and silent.

Vertrus has finally finished with the samples from Shigo. The quills are, as Bellatrix and I believed, not thorns from a plant. Just as Bellatrix suggested, their composition and structure seem to match smaller (about five times smaller) quill samples taken from a native monster known as the hedgehog. Hedgehogs are golden in appearance and covered in stiff quills with the strength to match bone. They aren't seen much since the Reclamation began, but they used to be a menace to farmers. "Delightful little manslayers" is how Vertrus called this new, larger brood. With a smile. Few professors are as callous as Vertrus; he is one of the sadistic, and sadly influential, few at the Academy who are completely upsetting the direction of the Academy's response to the Reclamation.

I have been researching myths regarding Etria, it's Yggdrasil Labyrinth, and a "Project" that took place there. I've found a few, very small, passages about a powerful circle of alchemists who were performing experiments on some rare natural materials native to the surrounding forest…but these passages are mostly without citations. That's what happens when you go back far enough into the misty myths. But…it's possible that these experiments involving alchemy and natural materials may be the alchemical-biological "Project" that I am searching for. Buried deep within the Yggdrasil Labyrinth could be the corrupted branch of the Tree of Life that I have been so desperately searching for – mythologically speaking.


	3. Noir: Stallion 11 to 12

[This work is inspired by the images, gameplay, and story of Atlus's _Etrian Odyssey, _as well as its sequels.]

[Since July 9th, 2012, the two previous chapters have been edited to include new story details which, I believe, help to give the story a greater feeling of cohesiveness. I have also made changes to account for the fact that it is stated in _Etrian Odyssey_ that Etria sent out messengers to all the different corners of the continent regarding the Labyrinth. This update is shorter than others, as a way of proving my intention to continue writing.]

Evening – you are in the Three-Gates Library, a castle which was repurposed as a library during the nation's last revolution. The things that Ardell Noir has been talking about sound, to you, like a crackpot conspiracy theorist's dream come true. But his sources are real - you are able to find some of them hidden within the Three-Gates' Special Archives. They have grown even mistier and more difficult to interpret between the year of Noir's discovery and the year of yours, it seems.

"In the year of catastrophe, many centuries ago, a group of alchemists gathered in Etria. They intended to stave off disaster by transmuting certain precious materials that can be found within Etria's forests. They failed."

How very disappointing. "They failed." No details, no explanation.

As convincing as he might be, taking Noir's word for truth without doing any research of your own would be incredibly naïve. There are some coincidences that support Noir's theory – such as that the Reclamation ended in the same year that the Yggdrasil Labyrinth was said to be "conquered" – but wouldn't believing those coincidences make you just as much of a crackpot as Noir might be?

There are other similarities between yourself and Noir which worry you, too. Flipping through the pages of a book of Etrian folklore, you consider the parallels between an ornithologist with no birds to study and a myth-weaver. Aren't you chasing myths, just like he is? Isn't Maurice filling a position for you, which is similar to the position you fill for Noir?

Your hand drifts from the book of folklore to Noir's diary, slowly, as if draping an arm around your lover's shoulder. _What a metaphor_, you think to yourself. Any more of this and you may have to make a trip to Etria…

Stallion 11, **Ethereal Academy**, Breakthrough!

I have been busy these past twenty-four days compiling research materials to submit a proposal to the Council of Seven. I believe that if I can support my theory on the Reclamation well enough, they may provide me with funds, materials, and personnel for an expedition to Etria. The possibility excites me very much. I enjoy traveling, and a trip to Etria would be to me what a live dig is for an archeologist. To connect the mythic past with the present reality, to connect the human id with its ego…imagine! One singular, powerful moment of revelation, like the legend of the World-Nut.

[_The next several inches of space contain, instead of more writing, four circular splots of black ink. Their edges are rounded, twisted, and reaching, so that each resembles a deadly infection which was killed and petrified before it could spread through the rest of the journal. At each splot's center, the paper in the journal is either slightly ripped or has been imprinted upon. It would seem that Noir purposefully pressed his pen to his journal to make these splots after writing his first paragraph. From left to write, the first three splots grow larger and larger, but the right-most splot is the smallest._]

I sound like my colleagues, don't I? I've allowed myself to become more passionate about my research than about its implications. In the end, it doesn't matter if another report is written about the Reclamation based on my findings. It doesn't matter if my work inspires a new direction in the field, or if I am published and become well-known or respected. Or it shouldn't.

What should matter, and what should be the only thing that matters, is that my findings might have the power to save lives. And yet, that is no longer the only thing that motivates me.

I have never told anyone this, but my first memories are of fire – of a white hot, all consuming, uncontrollable passion. In my day-dreams, in my unconscious associations, in my language, there is always fire. There is always something burning, consuming, revealing darkness. I do not know what this means, but I have taken it as a powerful symbol, from which I draw inspiration.

And yet, I chose long ago to study electricity as a form of combat alchemy! Do I deny my inner fire?

There is truth in everything, even in the blackest of lies. Everything reveals something else – that is the principle upon which I have chosen to stake my life. My life and the mystery of the Reclamation and the Yggdrasil Labyrinth may soon become very closely and irreversibly entwined. I suppose I must accept that I am a selfish creature.

But, at the same time, I must remember that I have a mission. I cannot allow myself to become lost in my own ambitions. And yet I fear that if I do not satisfy this hunger of mine, if I do not feed this fire within me, then I will be overwhelmed by it.

I must maintain a careful balance. I must not fail. Now, these reflections have left me drained and depressed. I will write more tomorrow. For now, I believe I will step into town and treat myself to a pick-me-up cup of tea. Perhaps also a slice of cake.

Stallion 12, **Ethereal Academy**, This time, actually, "Breakthrough!"

Yesterday I became stalled by my own melancholy and was unable to record my most recent and exciting findings in my personal journal. I will do so today.

[_There is a note in the margins: "Though the tea was foul, the cake was fantastic! Delicious! I bought a whole one after my first slice, and brought it home so that I can munch on it all week!"_]

I have been thinking about the vocabulary that Reclamation scholars use to talk about the Reclaimed lands. They call the wilderness "malignant" if it spreads, and "benign" if it does not. I use the same vocabulary myself, but I've never really thought about why. It just seemed like the thing to do. But really, the same terms refer to diseases – specifically, I have been thinking about tumors.

There is a kind of tumor called a "teratoma", which begins as a benign growth but has the potential to become malignant. They are sometimes present in children, from birth, and other times they are discovered later in life. What is most disturbing about the teratoma is that it sometimes contains fully or partially formed pieces of the human body – hair, bone, teeth, sometimes eyes, hands, or feet. Sometimes, horrifyingly, undeveloped fetuses have been discovered inside of these teratoma tumors. They most often grow within the skull, or the mouth, or the neck – produced, a poet could postulate, from the center of human imagination and emotion.

A philosopher might wonder which body – the fetus or the living human who spawned it from its teratoma – is the true inheritor of a human consciousness. What could such a fetus be, I wonder? Why would it exist? Why would nature create such a thing, why would it choose to appear and be violent? Why would a teratoma fetus act as if it were reclaiming the body it grows within?

When I consider how human-kind currently views the Reclamation based on the vocabulary used to discuss it, I come to the conclusion that it is considered a _cancer upon the earth_. Legends and myths which speak of similar sounding events call it a reckoning against the evils of humanity. The name, "Reclamation", suggests that the earth is taking back something which was appropriated from it.

A teratoma is a sort of disease – a cancer which is talked about in the same way that the Reclamation is. Consider the earth a body, and the Reclamation a teratoma. The language of discourse supports such a comparison, I believe. Now, if the Reclamation is a teratoma, it must have a source. Perhaps it was once benign, and has now become malignant and is spreading throughout the earth's "body". There must be a benign progenitor of the Reclamation. Etria's Yggdrasil Labyrinth resembles a benign section of Reclaimed earth. It is the only one we know about.

The next question I had was: what could cause the Labyrinth to become malignant? Which was when I thought about the "Project", the myth of the Tree of Life, and the un-cited references to a biological-alchemical experiment performed in Etria centuries ago.

I believe that something spawned the Labyrinth, and that this something has become corrupted by some irresponsible alchemists. Some of them must still be living and monitoring the damage. Possibly, they are trying to reverse it. They could also be trying to harness its power as some sort of weapon. I cannot know for certain, and this is all speculation.

I strongly believe that Etria's Labyrinth is at least worth an investigation. The trouble is that my sources are all based in fiction. It is my interpretation of them, based on current, factual events, and my understanding of human psychology and the use of symbols, that has lead me to my conclusion. I admit that most of it could be a lie. But still! The fact is that this Yggdrasil Labyrinth shares a name with the Tree of Life, and that it is the _only_ benign site of Reclaimed earth! It is worth investigation for that reason alone.

If the Labyrinth is a teratoma, though…would it have been present from the birth of our world? What kind of being exists at the center of the Labyrinth, and is it fighting with humanity to become the inheritor of our earth?

I must know. There are other paths to Etria than the one sanctioned by the Council of Seven. I am, at this point, willing to take them. I will do something to stop the Reclamation, whatever it takes. I will chase any lead – I have never felt a stronger sense of purpose, and at the same time I have never felt a stronger sense that I may be a complete fool.


	4. Noir: Stallion 15 to 27

[This work is inspired by the images, gameplay, and story of Atlus's _Etrian Odyssey, _as well as its sequels.]

You are more convinced than you ever have been before that Noir's theories are dripping with tripe. At the same time, it is difficult not to sympathize with genuine seeming feelings and desires.

You are eating lunch with a friend of yours, whose name is Renee. She asks you about the birds and you are forced to sheepishly mutter an answer into your sandwich. She doesn't hear you, but you both decide that that's ok and allow the matter to drop.

When she asks you if you have been reading anything interesting lately, you tell her a little bit about Ardell Noir, the teratoma, and the Yggdrasil Labyrinth. She quotes back to you the legend of the Labyrinth, written by a bard who traveled with a guild in Etria. She says it's one of her favorite poems.

You nod. Her fascination with the Labyrinth and Etria are well known all over town. Some days it seems like everyone in this place has an obsession of their own – a fire, as Noir would say, burning, consuming, revealing darkness.

"The Labyrinth swallowed all...

Innocents were stranded;

sinners drowned in the depths;

the damned vanished there.

The great power was lost to

Man, and Mother Earth turned

her back to the new world.

Only the cursed king on

his throne in the abyss

remembers the golden age."

Innocents, sinners, and the damned, huh? Noir doesn't seem to you to be like any of those things.

You finish your sandwich long before Renee is able to finish her salad. She orders dessert and asks you to stay with her while she eats it. She knows that you want to go out on an expedition into the nearby woods in an hour, that you need time to set up a stand and conceal yourself from the wildlife, so why would she do such a thing? In her eyes play scattered motes of light, bending and bickering and hinting at her double intentions.

"Read to me," she says. "Read to me aloud, from the journal."

Stallion 15, **Abandoned Cave Near Ethereal Academy**, Hedge Alchemist

I am Ardell Noir, hedge alchemist and outlaw. Who knew that such a reality would ever embody me? Somewhere, in another world, there is a more content Ardell Noir who heard the judgment of the Council of Seven and decided to let the matter of the Yggdrasil Labyrinth drop. He is a fool, and I hope that I never meet him.

I have stolen many things from the Academy to prepare for my trip to Etria. I have stolen food, which will buy me time to reach the nearest independent town. I have stolen books, maps, and journals which will provide me with entertainment and guidance. I have stolen money which, with luck, will grease and ease the wheels of my passage. Most importantly, I have stolen myself away from them. I am a "Hedge Alchemist" – an alchemist independent from the Academy. A dangerous thing. A rabid dog.

Still, the Academy would ignore me if those things were all that I had stolen. The Academy jails alchemists they suspect of going independent, but if an alchemist can escape before falling suspect then he is not pursued. He is arrested on sight, but the Academy's eyes are typically lethargic. The hedge alchemist has no access to the Academy's resources, you see, so he usually is not much of a threat to anyone's security.

I am an outlaw because I have stolen the "Philosopher's Stone" from the Academy and installed it into my E.N.D. The Stone makes me a sincere threat to their security.

The Philosopher's Stone is a small, purplish, mechanical device that resembles a many-faceted gem – a well cut amethyst, for example. It is the cutting edge of alchemical research and the most advanced piece of technology, perhaps, in the entire world.

The Ex Nihilo Device works like so: alchemical transmutations can be made by inputting formulas, which are codes of numbers, symbols, and letters. The codes have a mathematical structure and are based in the principles of the Great Sciences – biology, chemistry, and physics. Each code expresses a certain action in nature. Codes are extremely flexible and can be manipulated to fit almost any situation, as long as the alchemist using the Ex Nihilo Device is skilled enough.

But even if an alchemist is skilled enough to develop the code, he still may not be able to execute it. A piece of code represents a real, observable action – but, by itself, it is only capable of theory, not reality. Therefore the alchemist must contribute a part of him or herself to the equation – the Divine Spark. Effectively, an alchemist contributes his own energy to the E.N.D., which runs like a river through the valley of the code and empties into the ocean: reality.

As you can see, alchemists are creatures of poetry. It disgusts me. All of the art's flaws can be traced back to its poetries.

The Philosopher's Stone amplifies an alchemist's Divine Spark. This means that an alchemist does not need to invest as much of himself into the E.N.D. to achieve the same result. It also means that he is capable of much more powerful bursts of alchemy than a normal alchemist.

The side effects of prolonged use, so they say, are horrendous. But I am used to walking thin lines.

I cannot write for long. I must leave this cave before my pursuers discover me here. I will write again when I have reached Tillane, an independent city.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Well, Renee tells you, that's quite a twist isn't it?

Not really, you explain. You assumed that it would happen eventually – the rebellious man hot on the trail of an imaginary conspiracy is destined to break with the establishment that he is a part of. Noir said himself that he would not be afraid to leave if that was the only way he would get to Etria.

Renee finds it romantic. You find it intriguing, and also irresponsible. Where was Bellatrix, the voice of reason, during all of this mess?

Renee snorts into her coffee. Droplets of black spray up and onto her high cheek bones and glasses.

What, you ask her, is so funny?

"You're just like him, though," she says. "You even both realize how stupid you are!"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Stallion 27, **The High Horse, Tillane**, Philosopher

I wonder every day whether I am on the right path, traveling to Etria like this. I am still uncertain of what guides me – my thirst for discovery or my desire to end the Reclamation. But I have made my choice, and the time for doubting myself is over. Now is the time for action.

It is near midnight, and I am in a delightful tavern called "The High Horse" in the city of Tillane.

[_There is a note here, in the margins: _"_Besides my own motivations, I also wonder every day about my poor cake. I couldn't take it with me and now it languishes, uneaten, in my room at the Academy! Or else it has been stolen by one of my pernicious colleagues and lies imprisoned in his or her greedy stomach! Oh sweet, sweet cake…I will miss you most of all."_]

So far I have eluded my pursuers from the Academy. It's possible that they are trying to reach Etria before I do and to cooperate with the authorities there to arrest me as soon as I set foot into the village. But I have a plan for this.

I have sent a letter ahead of me, by courier bird, explaining that I have a Philosopher's Stone and that I am willing to defect to the Etrian government from Ethereal Academy. I am sure that their Radha, their city governors, will welcome me with open arms.

I have offered my services in three capacities: first, as a civil alchemist who can repair buildings and provide services to the people; second, as a combat alchemist who can work with the local guard to protect the village and further its interests; third, as an explorer who can carry the Etrian flag deeper into the Labyrinth. Since alchemists are bound to follow the orders of the Academy over all other authorities, I bring significant advantages to Etria as a hedge alchemist.

Now! You will notice that the journey to Trillane took twelve days. You may be asking yourself, "How in the world did a weak, knock-kneed alchemist carry twelve days worth of supplies?" Well, I took a scenic route through several villages. Using my stolen gold, I bought supplies in one village to hop to the next, and eventually I reached Trillane. Thus completes the first third of my journey.

I spent my days walking through woods and fields, sweating in the hot sun like a pig. I spent my nights splayed out under the stars, enjoying the cool night breeze and falling asleep to a chirping choir of crickets. Traveling is truly a marvelous experience.

Four days into my journey I reached the village of Renoir, where I stopped and stayed the night in a farmer's barn in exchange for an afternoon's worth of work. Laying in the barn, listening to the sounds of the animals breathing and groaning, I felt tremendously relaxed. A hard day's work led me to a sound sleep – or so I thought. I had the most disturbing dream, instead, which I believe was inspired by the noises of those damned animals.

In my dream, I was walking through the halls of the Ethereal Academy's art museum – a thing which does not truly exist. The architecture of the museum was a mish-mash of features of the overall Academy, but they were arranged into impossible angles and surfaces. The sounds of moaning, groaning, shifting bodies could be heard echoing off of the many angles of the ceiling, creating a wind tunnel of pained exclamations. I remember thinking to myself, "Ah-ha! So the whole museum is also an exhibit!" The architecture was quite beautiful, and unlike anything I have ever seen, but the noises were quite discomforting.

I walked through the halls of the museum, taking in the sights, until I stopped in front of a sculpture of an alchemist at practice. Her – it was a her – face was not turned towards me at first, but it soon shifted so that our eyes met. The statue wore the face of Bellatrix. As I stood, flabbergasted, wondering why she was posing as a statue, she raised her hand and caused the entire museum to explode in flames. I remember vividly feeling hot tongues of fire licking up my sides and onto my face, singing cloth and melting flesh. I woke up as Bellatrix leaned down to me, and smiled.

I avoided the Reclaimed lands as best as I could, but there was one short leg of my journey where passing through them was unavoidable. A deep and furious river winds past the small village of Trepol, and the Reclamation has taken back the land surrounding the nearest bridge. I could have made a detour and added three days to my trip, but I did not believe I would have sufficient supplies. Trepol is nearly abandoned – the locals understand that the Reclamation is encroaching upon them.

I cut a path through the forest with my alchemy, and thankfully I did not encounter much mutated wildlife. When I reached the bridge which spans the river, though, a large trout the length of three men and the width of two leapt out of the water and cleared the bridge in a single, writhing jump. I ran across the bridge quickly, fearing that I would be attacked, but luck was with me.

I had not considered the impact of the Reclamation on rivers and streams. They provide a way for mutated plants and animals to quickly move from place to place. The Reclamation could spread to cover the entire world if it were to follow a path all the way to the ocean!

Tonight, I drink to my continued luck and health. Tomorrow, I continue on my journey to end this nightmare.


	5. Circe Estrade: Phoenix 27 to Phoenix 28

[This work is inspired by the images, gameplay, and story of Atlus's _Etrian Odyssey, _as well as its sequels.]

Perhaps something like wanderlust has overtaken you. The other night you had a dream which was, to you, as meaningful as Noir's dream must have been to him.

In it you were a bird. You awoke in a nest in a tree outside of the village, surrounded by the absolute silence and the pink, fleshy light of dawn. You spread your wings and the wind lifted you up and out of the trees. Bright green leaves flew past your cheeks or brushed your neck like strings – trying to hold you back, perhaps.

You first soared around the village wall, watching the smoke rise from different chimneys as your neighbors began to wake up. Disheveled women in crooked blouses and skirts made their morning trips to the well to draw water, while shirtless and bleary eyed men gathered in the village square to discuss the weather and the work to be done later in the day.

And then you took off beyond the walls just because you could. You flew over rivers and lakes - gleaming handfuls of smoky dew clouded by groups of fish, weeds, canoes, or trash. You flew across wide plains and wove your way between the tree branches of a thousand forests until you wound up in Etria.

In your dream, Etria was ruined. Once the mystery of the Labyrinth was solved, the village had dissolved like a ghost. There was nothing. That was a fact, a real-world fact. This crushing reality made you realize that you were dreaming. And then, struggling to control your own collapsing dream, you felt yourself burst suddenly and inexplicably into flames.

When you woke up you were coated in a second skin of sweat, shouting to yourself (or to someone elsewhere), "I will not be...!" and the word "…consumed," popped into your head to fill the silence.

You have not told anyone about this dream.

Maurice surprises you again tonight when he tells you that you have an admirer, and that he's paid for your dinner.

"Over there in the corner," Maurice says. With a gnarled middle finger he indicates a man shrouded in a dark cloak. A shadowy figure watching you from the corner table with his two, blue, playful looking eyes. You've entered another world and it appears to be entirely cliché.

What is he, you ask, an actor? Is this a joke?

"Nope. Same guy I bought that book for yeh off of."

Really, is this a joke or not?  
>"Haha! No! I'm really serious!" Maurice continues to chuckle.<p>

Well, you ask, does he want to talk to me?

"Dunno. Gave me this for you, though."

From under the bar Maurice produces a book bound in flexible, pristine leather. There is a design on the front of it that resembles some kind of complex knot. When you open it, you can't help but release a groan.

"Phoenix 27, Year 1212 to Tiger 4, Year 1214 – Circe Estrade, Keeper of Guild Crimson."

Guild Crimson was the first and only group to reach the bottom of the Yggdrasil Labyrinth. Afterwards, they vanished. About a year later the Labyrinth suddenly just…dried up like a puddle in the sun.

You look to the corner of the room where the cloaked man sat. He's standing now, making his exit. You wonder when you'll see him again and exactly what he's playing at and why he's chosen to give this new journal to you.

Maybe he's an eccentric writer, and these are a pair of his latest novels. Or maybe he's Ardell Noir. Your snicker to yourself. You imagine sharing a drink with Ardell Noir. You imagine Ardell Noir being drunk.

"A funny one this time? Good! Better than that clap-trap I bought you before. I almost regret it, you've seemed awfully lost in your own thoughts lately," Maurice says.

No, the book itself will probably not be a funny one. It might as well be a book of poetry.

Phoenix 27, **Etria**, Year 1212, The Journal of Circe Estrade, Peace

I am not the sort of person who believes that a sword is a metaphor for its wielder – my power is not drawn from something of dead iron, something not created by me, something which I often wield and have wielded for purposes other than my own. I do not identify with the shape of my sword, which is slim, straight, and crossed at the hilt. My sword is not an extension of my self.

My sword is a being all its own. Sometimes we cooperate and sometimes we are in competition. It is a strange relationship to rely on a being for your survival and at the same time to be competing with it for control of your own identity. I find that the same thing happens in large groups – are you a member of the group, or are you Circe Estrade?

I am in Verda Plaza with my partner Ludo Brash. City guards always travel in pairs since the Labyrinth began drawing more and more adventurers to the city. Our patrol routes are close, so that at any time two guards can whistle for two more guards to reinforce their position. And, with a different whistle, those two guards can call for two more and two more, and two more…and so on, so that the entirety of Etria's professional guard corps can be on any given scene in a matter of minutes.

Ludo is dozing on a bench and I am standing near the town fountain with one hand on my sword hilt. We are scheduled to be in Verda Plaza for the next half hour until we are relieved by another group.

Birds are flying overhead. They are a rare sight these days. The very privileged have begun to capture and cage birds as luxury items since they are becoming so rare. Birdsong is the finest form of music. The bards try to imitate it by constructing songs around birdlike whistle-calls. All of this, of course, is only making the birds rarer…and it is also making it somewhat more desirable, at least to the bards and the bird-sellers, that they remain rare.

The sun is high overhead and there are many clouds which cast a clockwork of moving shadows across the town. Warm sunlight and cool shade, where the breeze can be best felt, alternate in a kind of rhythm – a rocking, a lullaby. I cannot blame Ludo for nodding off to sleep ten seconds into our thirty minute stop. It was as if he sat into a coma. He has told me that his daughter keeps him awake at night telling stories and playing games.

[_A few short words have been scratched into the margins: verdant, fertile, enwrapped, embalmed, balmy, love. There are others, it looks like, but they have faded and cannot be read. It is a significant list. Exactly why these words and why in the margins is a mystery._]

There is such a silence in Verda Plaza that it puts me at peace. Many adventurers are exploring the Labyrinth at this hour. In the early morning and in the evening, the Plaza will be filled with their gleeful voices, their carousing, the smell of their sweat and the food being prepared for them. That, too, makes me feel a certain way. I do not want to feel that way today, though, and so I am thankful that I will be patrolling elsewhere come dusk.

That was the scene today. Reliving it now as I rewrite it, I realize that it was an empty day. I was in a very reflective mood. I still am. Ludo was trying to interest me in some gossip, something about a traveler from afar, but I don't think I was a very good conversation partner. I will have to apologize to him somehow. Maybe I'll buy him a pastry tomorrow.

I'm astonished by how pathetic I've been lately. I'm allowing my past to control my present – and why should I let it do that? I am the gatekeeper of my own mental state. I am an accomplished swordswoman, a dutiful city guard, a pillar of the community. I am a leader. And I am mired in past love. Disgusting. I wish I were stronger, but every day it feels like I learn that I'm not what I want to be.

Enough brooding. No one likes a brooder. Tomorrow Ludo and I will be visiting Radha Hall to speak with the Chieftain's secretary about some special orders.

Phoenix 28, **Etria: Radha Hall**, Year 1212, Guild Crimson

Ludo and I were called off of patrol today to Radha Hall by a messenger for the secretary to the Chieftain. When we arrived at Radha Hall, the secretary himself was there to greet us.

"Sergeant Estrade, Corporal Brash. A pleasure to see you," he said with a sweeping gesture of one arm. He had brilliant red hair – curly, tall, like a desert rock shrouded by a tumbleweed, all the color of a wasteland. He wore glasses. For fashion, I assume, because I noticed that they were just frames with no lenses. Sharp uniform – something I'm still jealous of.

"Mr. Secretary, sir. Reporting," I said. These politicians like to pretend to be personable, but I prefer to remain professional. How can they care? Why should they pretend? Either way, we both have a job to do. Duty first. Always.

"Please! Haha, relax! Step into my office, there's someone I'd like you to meet," he said. Ludo snorted.

"You want me to wait here? Is Circe getting a medal or something?"

"Nonsense," the secretary said. "Nonsense, I need you both for a special project. You've been hand-picked by the Radha itself to form a new guild," he began to lead us through Radha Hall towards his office. Everything in Radha Hall is tall and slim, silver and blue. I put one hand on my sword. This was its realm, the realm of duty. It had led me into a trap. Or so I thought.

When we arrived in the secretary's opulent office (a carpet, a fireplace, hundreds of books lining the walls…for heaven's sake, a songbird in a cage in the corner) I saw the stranger who was waiting for us. He stood to meet us and the look he appraised Ludo and I with surprised me. It was like a campfire leering at a pile of firewood. Not sexual, though I did get the feeling that we were nothing but tools to him. He had a mess of black hair and was dressed in an expensive suit which he had probably spent upwards of a month trekking through the wilderness in. He had a brown leather satchel with him which he had placed near his chair, on the floor within kicking distance of his mud-covered and worn brown boots. Metal gleamed from under the fold of the satchel's cover in the light of the fireplace – gold, silver, copper, and something black.

[_Another list is in the margins. You can make out the words: fire, pierce, song, dirt, exultation, control, smile_.]

After several tense seconds of sharing glances between the three of us (which the secretary seemed to take great joy in observing) the man smiled.

"Hello. My name is Ardell Noir; I'm a Hedge Alchemist from far away. A place called the Ethereal Academy where they train Alchemists and study the world and its workings," his voice was like the rustling of iron in a blacksmith's coals.

"Sergeant Circe Estrade of the Etrian Guard."

"Circe! This is the traveler I was telling you about, the one who all the rumors are flying around for!" Ludo erupted. The secretary, now sitting at his desk with several glasses of water in front of him, peaked his fingers and listened to us. He smiled wryly. To my pleasure, Noir's smile widened…but genuinely, not ironically.

"Ludo, please!" I said.

"But…"

"It's quite alright, Sergeant. Ludo is your name? What rumors are flying for me?"

"Oh, lots of them. Saints alive…we've had alchemists here before, but they say that you're incredibly talented. They say that you've traveled through the Reclaimed lands, fighting with the wilderness, burning whole forests to the ground. They say that you're a champion of humanity, that you control lightning like nature herself – you're a living storm. Bad luck, too. I hear none of the Inns will let you stay with them because you're such a danger."

"Ludo, this is very rude," I said. The man has a tendency to ramble. He is an insatiable gossip, not unlike his wife. I eyed the bird in the corner: blue on top, white on bottom, with a black mask across its downcast eyes.

"I really don't mind," Noir said. "It's true that I've traveled through the Reclaimed lands to reach Etria and it's true that I am more powerful than most Alchemists. Though, my strength is not for the sake of my talent but for science," he said. From his satchel he produced a pair of metal gauntlets. Most Alchemists are not allowed to wear them in public. They're as good as live explosive devices. My first instinct was to seize them immediately, and so I must have started forward a bit because Noir held them protectively against his chest.

"Ah…excuse me. It's just that…" I began.

"He has permission from the Radha, Sergeant," the secretary said. He spread his arms wide, palms up and pointed towards his desk. "Water?"

"You see here," Noir continued once we all had glasses and were seated, "this is a Philosopher's Stone. It's new technology developed by the Academy which I've…stolen." He indicated a small purple stone which was set, somewhat clumsily, in the center of one gauntlet.

"So you are an Alchemist _and_ a thief. Two groups known for their recklessness and disregard for public safety combined into one body. Mr. Secretary," I turned my head away from Noir's offended glance, "why is this man here, and why does he have special permission from the Radha to display his gauntlets in public? The town guard has enough trouble keeping order with all of the regular adventurers around and now…"

"He is not a threat. You should let him finish, this is very interesting," the secretary said. Condescension was clear on his face and in his voice.

"As I was saying," Noir still sounded offended. He settled back into his chair and his scarf and hair stood out like a cactus' quills or an owl's ruffled feathers. "As I was saying, the Philosopher's Stone is new technology. It allows a formula's power to be magnified many times over. Therefore, I have to put less of my own energy into the Ex Nihilo Device…"

"The what?" Ludo asked through a glass of water.

"The gauntlets. I put in less energy to achieve the same effect that many Alchemists achieve with a normal input. My strength reaches greater heights than most Alchemists can dream of."

"Not at all cocky about that, either, are we?"

"Ludo!" I said, though I appreciated his comment. Ludo understood this and smiled sheepishly.

"I am proud of what I am and the tools I have at my disposal, yes," Noir said.

"Your highs are higher and your lows are higher too, huh? Simple enough," Ludo said with a shrug.

"You three will be forming a guild," the secretary chimed in. "Ardell here has defected from Ethereal Academy with the Philosopher's Stone, and so he is an employee of the Radha…just like the town guard."

"If we're forming a guild then that means you want us to enter the Labyrinth. You're reassigning us," I said.

"That's right."

"Then…what are we?" Ludo asked. "His protection? Or are we supposed to keep tabs on him, make sure he doesn't blow up a tavern?"

"No," Noir said, but the secretary said at the same time, "Sort of."

The two men exchanged glances – Noir's hostile and the secretary's amused.

"You will do as we say or we will turn you in to the Academy."

Noir settled back in his chair without another word. He didn't look as if he took that threat seriously – and with his Philosopher's Stone, as I understand it, I doubt that he would have been threatened by any ordinary Alchemist or Academy. Something else was keeping him under the Radha's thumb.

"Sergeant Estrade will be the guild's keeper. With Ardell in tow, the Radha has confidence that your guild can penetrate the Labyrinth like no other guild before you. You will reach the greatest depths…and you will extract the Labyrinth's greatest treasures…and these treasures you will give to the Radha to use as it pleases."

"For the good of Etria," I said. Ludo snorted.

"I wish I had your faith," he said.

"What we use the materials you collect in the Labyrinth for, Corporal, is not your business," the secretary said. He began to tap his fingers on his desk in a familiar rhythm. A bard's song, yes. It was _Cerulean Sky, My Love is Lost_.

"We will call ourselves Guild Crimson," Noir said very suddenly.

"Like blood?" the secretary asked.

"Like a fire," Noir said.

"If it's like a fire, we should call ourselves crimson-orange-yellow motley," Ludo said with a grin.

"Although you may be one, I assure you that I am not a clown. We will have no motleys," Noir said. He did crack a smile, though.

An unpleasant fellow. But a professional one. I don't like him, but I can work with him. And unlike Ludo, this is a mission that suits me well. I know he is worried about how much the news of his entering the dangerous Labyrinth will concern his wife and daughter, but this is a good mission and is for their safety. The hard materials like wood, iron, and minerals that we gather will be used to make new weapons to conquer the Labyrinth with. They will be used to build our town into a great city. The herbs that we find can be used to make medicines, and the animals, fruits, and vegetables can make food to enhance our lives.

"Guild Crimson," I said. Noir nodded. I watched him watching us, still appraising Ludo and I. It is unpleasant to be the subject of another person's scrutinizing gaze. For me, at least. Ludo did not appear to notice – his eyes were directed towards a bust of the Chieftain in the corner of the room.

I do not know if Ardell Noir understands what a horror the Labyrinth can be. Ludo has lost many friends to its depths. I've seen so many people in grief because of its all-consuming maw.

It was only later that Noir shared with me, as we walked through Radha Hall, that he believes there is a solution to the problem of the Reclamation in the Yggdrasil Labyrinth. The Reclaimed lands have not reached Etria or anywhere near her yet. But we get news from far abroad that it is destroying this continent. Just last month we lost contact with a major trading partner of ours.

This all concerns me in only one way: it threatens the safety of Etria. I will do my duty. Duty, always. For Etria's safety and prosperity, I exist. I must keep telling myself that. But it's killing me inside.


	6. Estrade: Uroboros 5 to 6 (First Steps)

[This work is inspired by the images, gameplay, and story of Atlus's _Etrian Odyssey, _as well as its sequels.]

Uroboros 5, **Etria: The Rooster Inn, **Year 1212, The Journal of Circe Estrade, Untitled

Early morning. I am the first awake and I am filled with thoughts and memories of the past five days. I did not sleep well. I have been thinking – about love, about protection, about Etria, about duty. I have been thinking, too, about my soon-to-be companions in the Labyrinth. They are such wonderful idiots; I already feel affection for both of them.

We used our Guild money, given to us by the Radha, to purchase supplies – camping equipment, weapons, food, waterskins, etcetera – from Shilleka, a local blacksmith and general goods merchant. Ludo and I spent the remainder of our time finishing paperwork and being on patrol. Only yesterday did our transfer into Guild Crimson become official. Ardell spent the last four days gathering gossip and stories about the Labyrinth. He keeps them in a journal, which he sometimes shows to Ludo and I when he is in an extraordinarily excitable mood.

[_Written in the margins, next to the words "excitable mood," is the word, "OFTEN!" It is underlined three times. Below that is another list of words. You can make out the following: white teeth, monstrous laughter, joy, energy, footsteps on cobblestone, empty mugs, clattering, chattering, gathering…_]

I arranged for us all to meet in the Golden Deer Tavern each night. I thought that it would be a good idea for us to become better acquainted if we are going to be entrusting our lives to one another.

He is worse than Ludo. When Ardell gossips, he always begins by relating what he's heard from several different people. He builds his narratives with many different and disparate threads. Then, at the height of your confusion, he unleashes his favorite line – "Now, what does this mean? Well, you see…" and he begins to interpret. He studies the chatter of common people like a scholar studies the histories of the ancients. The conclusions he draws…dreadful. Senseless. But he is so earnest that it is hard to be angry with or disdainful of him. It would be like kicking a dog.

Ludo encourages Ardell, that is the worst of it. I think that he enjoys winding Ardell up, like an old and malfunctioning clock, and watching him sputter. He likes to see Ardell red in the face and shouting, passionately, about his nonsense. Ludo has a very special, unfamiliar, and loud kind of barking laughter that he reserves for the end of an argument that he and Ardell have gotten into. As angry as Ardell seems to be with Ludo, generally, I think that he enjoys Ludo's company. No one else will humor him like Ludo will. No one else will ask the provoking questions that Ludo will ask. If they don't kill each other, I have faith that they will be good friends someday.

Today will be Guild Crimson's first day in the Yggdrasil Labyrinth. Here, in Etria, they call me a city guard. When I was a sworn dame of the kingdom of Grularde – that was seven years ago, I suppose…time does pass - they called me a Protector. Today I feel like a Protector.

Uroboros 6, **Etria: First Stratum, The Emerald Grove**, Year 1212, Map-Making

Our first task is to make a map of the first floor of the Labyrinth. This is the standard "test-of-entry" for all Guilds. The Radha wants to ensure that we are a good investment by sending us on this mission. I believe that they will be pleased with our results. We have not met with any feral beasts yet. I hope that our luck continues.

Tonight, we are camping within the Emerald Grove. Ardell has been silent and wide-eyed all day, enthralled. Ludo scoffs at everything, has a joke for every new sight, but I have heard how his voice quivers and I have seen how his hands shake. I know that he is terrified. I am too.

This is the Emerald Grove, an underground forest. During the day everything is cast in brilliant colors. Blue, red, green, and yellow flowers are scattered like gemstones across the forest floor. In the sunlight, they seem to glow with the simple joy of being alive. Tall trees and thriving, voluptuous shrubbery line the paths that the Etrian Labyrinth Guards have cut through the first floor. And the sunlight itself – that is the most magnificent sight during the day. The Emerald Grove is awash with pockets of swirling, scattering, playful pillars and patches of light. Everything seems to be moving, either in the wind or because of the way that the light dances across it. Ludo finds this unsettling. He says that he is never sure if we are being watched or followed. "Naturally predatory," is the way that Ardell described the scenery.

The moon is waxing and almost full. Its silver-blue light is not like the sun's: not playful, not swirling, not life-giving or movement-inspiring. It swallows the air and cloaks all of the things that swim in it in shadows. During the day, we could hear birds chirping and beasts calling. Now, all we hear is a cacophony of insects punctuated by…rustling – a silence – rustling….and the noise resumes.

The way that the moonlight illuminates some things and makes others seem like black shadows is distracting to me. The black shadows of trees and bushes remind me of living beings that are waiting for something. I feel how they are tense, in their legs, leaning forward. And when a gust of wind blows through the forest and scatters the light for a moment, I sense what a joy it is to be lit-up, to be revealed, to be free in the air and wild like a dust-storm.

Ludo, Ardell, and I were talking around the campfire.

"Beautiful, isn't it all?" Ardell said. Ludo snorted.

"Like a freshly whetted blade."

"You sense it too, then? Why were you so quiet when I said earlier that the forest is a natural predator?"

"Because I knew that you wanted to talk about it. And I didn't," Ludo smiled. Ardell began to grumble.

"Come now, Ludo, we should be open with each other…"

"You'd like me to be more open? Do you think the sheep enjoys hearing from the shepherd how sharp the wolf's teeth are, how skilled it is at stalking and hunting?"

"I'm the shepherd of this group then?" Ardell said.

"You are supposed to be the most heavily armed of us with that fancy gem of yours. And it is a little disturbing to hear from you about what magnificent pieces the wilderness could cut us up into at any moment. But I'm not being literal, I'm not a sheep and you're not a shepherd…you're missing my point…"

"Don't worry, I will protect you Ludo. You have my word of honor."

Ludo sighed heavily.

"I wasn't trying to compliment you. I was trying to tell you to be silent about how dangerous everything is because I already know it…"

"It's natural to feel like a sheep in my presence, Ludo," Ardell said with a flourish of his hands. I snickered. This was new – Ardell had only just learned how to sincerely pinch Ludo's nerves. Usually it was the other way around.

"I'm no sheep! I'm strong as an ox…"

"But an ox doesn't need a shepherd's strength to protect it as you apparently do."

Ludo looked like he was about to burst, and so I intervened.

"You both think that strength is what makes a shepherd a shepherd and a sheep a sheep," I said. "It isn't so. The shepherd is not a sheep because she is watchful. The sheep is not a shepherd because it must be watched over."

"Then I suppose you're the shepherd and I'm a wayward wolf in this case," Ardell said. "I'm sorry to torment your flock like this…a little sorry, at least."

Ludo sighed. "As long as you're doing the watching, Circe, I don't mind. I would appreciate it, actually, if you'd keep an eye on Ardell for me. Keep him under control. Put that big image he has of himself on a diet: I'll be the sheep if you'll do that."

"Don't trust me?" Ardell asked.

"Not a bit. Yet," Ludo said. Ardell's eyebrows arched, then fell, and his whole face puckered in offense. "You don't feel much fear in here, do you? You like to talk about 'predatory instincts' and all that, but you don't feel very threatened, do you? You're going to get us all killed with your recklessness and overconfidence. What happens if you lose those gauntlets of yours? What if that purple gem of yours stops working?"

"The forest is predatory," Ardell sat up more straightly, closed his eyes, and pointed a finger at Ludo. This is what he had been waiting for: a chance to explain himself. "The forest is predatory because it is beautiful. Many plants and animals look and behave beautifully with bright colors, exotic movements, and scents in order to lure prey. Then, when their prey feels most comfortable and safe, they strike."

"So fear is common sense, it's about safety," Ludo said.

"No. Fear is a sign of weakness to great predators. We must be ready for anything and fear nothing. Even if we are being lured into danger, if we are always prepared then we will always prevail," I said. Ludo stared at me, open-mouthed. Ardell began to smile and he blushed.

"Is that what you were going to say?" I said, and smiled back at Ardell.

"Something like that, yes."

"I think you're wrong. We won't prevail if we always ignore our fear. You can't ignore fear. Do you fear being afraid? Fear is something you have to live with. Even if it seems like an enemy, it's a part of yourself," I said.

"I'm not afraid of fear. No."

"If you are, even if you're prepared…if something goes wrong, you'll begin to panic. Even if it's only a little. And that panic will grow, quickly, into a powerful fear. And then you won't know what to do because you've never felt fear before. And while you're feeling your fear for the first time…"

"It always feels like the first time," Ludo added.

"…you could be injured," I finished.

"Or killed," Ludo said. Ardell looked up at the sky. I followed his eyes and realized that he was watching the moon through the trembling leaves above.

"There's an old story about an ancient religion. One of their gods was a god of painters and death. Supposedly, it was his job to paint the final images of the dying."

"Final images? Like how they would look on their deathbeds?" Ludo asked.

"No, the last thoughts of the dying I mean. The last thing that a person would see and feel, in their soul, even after they'd lost their physical senses of sight and touch."

"Not everyone thinks in images all the time. What if it was a word that a person thought on their deathbed? Then their god makes no sense," Ludo said with a grin. Ardell shrugged.

"A myth doesn't have to be entirely factual to be true or useful."

"As you like."

"I've read books that consist entirely of the dream-images of the dying. The priests of this religion believed that they could sense the image and record it. Some especially skilled priests would try to recreate the image – as an artifact, you see; as a piece of the divine, something inspired and originally created by a god and given to men."

"How sad and beautiful those must have been," I said.

Yes. That is what the trees and the shadows in the moonlight remind me of: something divine, something dying, something more felt than seen.

Ardell continued: "The priests made notes after the first sensing of an image… notes about how it inspired them to feel: how did divinity taste, what texture did it have on the skin, what memories did it resonate with? And many of the priests said that they felt afraid. What made them afraid? Can you guess?"

"Well…if they believed that they were feeling something divine, it's not unusual to be afraid," I said.

"I try not to think about gods and such," Ludo said.

"But can you guess?"

"It must have been indescribable. I can't imagine the true face of something divine," I said. Ardell nodded.

"That's exactly what it was. Always, they said, it was indescribable. Mortal words could not encompass the sense of a dying dream, although they could try. The priests described joy so strong that it bled into terror: shortness of breath, saccharine scents, thickness and impotence of the tongue as if it was wrapped in velvet or fur. The sense of being held but also of being alone at the same time. Uncertainty."

"I hate to ask, because I know you want me to ask it, but where are you going with this?" Ludo said. He picked up a stick and began to poke at the fire with it.

"These ancient people believed that experiencing death was something so wonderful, so good, so comforting that it was unearthly – uncanny. They felt warped caricatures of happiness and comfort. That's what made them afraid: the inability to know. We could all very well die while exploring this Labyrinth, it's true. So, then, if we feel fear we must fear death. But we cannot know either. Both are indescribable, and so to try and understand your own fear or anything you feel is a pointless exercise."

"But we must live with that fear and learn to make it a part of ourselves," I said. "We must know it."

"But we _can't_ know it. We _can't_ know true fear or happiness or comfort or death or anything because all of those things are just what we believe them to be. We know our feelings, but to even give them a name is to be like those priests – there's a tension between what we actually feel and what we believe that we feel; between what is true and what is divine."

"So you think that the proper course of action is to ignore that tension," I said.

"Yes. Trying to resolve it is impossible, pointless, possibly dangerous. We should be content with what we know but do not understand. Since we cannot learn understanding, we must learn control."

"When I was a very young girl, I was given a ribbon to tie into my hair for my mother's birthday party. My hair was finally long enough to tie a ribbon into it, and I was very proud to wear one. My mother often wore one. I thought it was the most wonderful thing in the world to wear a ribbon like her. I was very happy. But when I saw my mother later that day at her party – saw her see me – and she began to cry, I couldn't understand why," I said.

"She was happy," Ardell said.

"I know that now. I know what happiness feels like for me, even if I can't describe it. And I can feel it in others even if I can't articulate how. I think you're missing the point of your story."

"Which is?"

"That the priests continued to try and sense the dreams of the dying and that they continued to record them even if they knew they couldn't describe them completely. If, like you say, they couldn't understand what they were feeling…they continued to try anyway. Why would they do that?"

"Does it matter? It was a great waste of time…"

"But why would they do it? It was clearly important to them for some reason. Why?" I asked. Our eyes met and I noticed the way that the fire-light washed across his pupils.

"I don't know," he said. Ludo laughed.

"I never thought I'd hear that!"

"I'll have to think about it," Ardell said. I could feel him retreat into himself. I could feel all of his sense of contact with the outside world contract completely into a tight bubble inside of himself. He became silent. He continued to joke, to talk, and to sing when prompted…but his voice was hollow and his energy was elsewhere for the rest of the night. That's not the way to find the answer, I don't think. Although, then again, I don't know what is the way.

It was a good story. I am watching the shadows in the moonlight again now, tending the fire while Ardell and Ludo sleep. But enough writing. I have had enough of the past and will live in the present.


	7. Noir: Uroboros 6 (Another Perspective)

[This work is inspired by the images, gameplay, and story of Atlus's _Etrian Odyssey, _as well as its sequels.]

You thought it was strange, at first, that Ardell could be caught off guard while telling one of his own treasured myths. He told the story so suddenly and without prompting, except that Circe wrote he looked at the moon first, that you assumed he must have had a purpose for telling it. But when he got to the end and began talking with Circe…it was _she_ who sounded like Ardell, and Ardell himself sounded more like one of his former colleagues from the Ethereal Academy. It was Circe who advocated that the unknown must be chased, that darkness must be revealed, and that truth is in the journey and not the destination. It was Circe who advocated that dreams and feelings must be studied, even if such a course of study is futile.

After finishing your dinner, you took Ardell's journal from out of your satchel and flipped ahead of your bookmark, all the way through his journey to Etria, and to that night – Uroboros 6 – to find some answers. What was he thinking? You skim ahead through the chapter, through his fawning descriptions of the Labyrinth, to reach the moment when the campfire conversation began. And you find this passage:

Uroboros 6, **The Yggdrasil Labyrinth**, Year 1212, Circe Estrade

"No. Fear is a sign of weakness to great predators. We must be ready for anything and fear nothing. Even if we are being lured into danger, if we are always prepared then we will always prevail," she said. Ludo and I were sitting, mind you, while she stood a short distance away from the fire. She threw furtive glances our way, all of which I assume it was impossible for me to notice, and for the most part kept her eyes locked on the surrounding wilderness…a specific patch, in fact, of tall trees which stood like pillars of rising pitch in the moonlight.

"Is that what you were going to say?" she said, and looked at us. She smiled…and I could not see her face well, but I could hear in her voice that she was challenging me. Why? This is not what I was going to say at all. In fact I am absolutely terrified of being inside of the Labyrinth. If it is the source of the Reclamation, then it must have all of the powers of the other Reclaimed areas. The grass could strangle us in our sleep. The trees could uproot themselves and smash us into pulp. The shrubbery, like that terrible Reclaimed shrub Yvette, could stalk us like a murderer and leap upon us when we least expect it.

The risk is worth taking, though, and it is all very majestic. I had been toying with Ludo, because to admit to fear in front of him would be to invite disaster: he would never let me live it down. As long as he is afraid and he believes that I am not, then I hold the upper hand.

Circe puzzled me. She was challenging my false front with my own true feelings. And so, I decided to get to the bottom of her game.

"Something like that, yes," I said. I felt my face blush red with the shame of deception.

"I think you're wrong. We won't prevail if we always ignore our fear. You can't ignore fear. Do you fear being afraid? Fear is something you have to live with. Even if it seems like an enemy, it's a part of yourself," she said.

I glanced at Ludo, who was watching me with a curious and challenging intensity in his eyes. "I'm not afraid of fear. No," I said more to him than to Circe.

"If you are," she continued, now watching the trees in the distance, as if I had never spoken, "even if you're prepared…if something goes wrong, you'll begin to panic. Even if it's only a little. And that panic will grow, quickly, into a powerful fear. And then you won't know what to do because you've never felt fear before. And while you're feeling your fear for the first time…you could be injured."

Ludo piped in with some snide remark, but I ignored him.

Feeling your fear for the first time. I've always believed that our emotions, strange and unknowable, are like the myths that I study: things in which truth is obscured, but exists somewhere to be dug out and interpreted in pieces; impossible to describe and therefore impossible to study, but still worth the scraps of illumination that a futile study of them provides. This all sounds very pretentious, I'm sure – but that's part of my point. To try and describe emotions and feelings like fear and joy with any amount of precision always sounds inhuman.

Looking at the moon and feeling my fear for the first time that day, being alone with my own terror for just a moment, made me imagine the possibility of our deaths and death reminded me of an old religion that I'd once read about. I told my new companions this story:

In an old religion, there is a god of painting and of death. Supposedly, the holders of this religion wrote, this god of painting and death is responsible for painting the last image that a person ever sees in their mind before they pass away. It is believed that a well-trained priest who is present during a person's passing can sense this image – feel, taste, and smell it; resonate with it. I described to Circe and Ludo the books I'd read which described these dying dream-images – the conclusion of most of the priests was that the images were impossible to describe and impossible to know, and therefore fearful.

It has always been my opinion that it was right to study these unknowable sensations and dream-images. I can't say why, though. It simply feels right to me that they would do so. But, I wanted to test Circe.

She was standing in the moonlight, fully armored and leaning with one arm on her shield. With her other hand she was playing with the hilt of the thin sword that hung from her belt. Her head was tilted ever so slightly towards her right shoulder, so that she was revealing the whole of her neck to Ludo and I near the campfire. I could tell that she was very relaxed, as if she were floating in the air. I could see that she was concentrating in an absent-minded and dream-like way on her surroundings. Her eyes darted here and there, then lingered, then she closed them for a few moments and seemed to simply listen. When a person is being watchful, we say that they are "taking in their surroundings," as if a person could literally absorb the ground through their feet or the horizon through their skin, as if a person could take in and become the very wilderness that they are observing – as if it is possible to become so close to one's surroundings that a person reaches a oneness with them and achieves a god-like omnipotence over them. Circe was taking in her surroundings.

I said that exploring one's own emotions and feelings was a pointless exercise.

"We must live with our fear and learn to make it a part of ourselves," she said. "We must know ourselves."

"But we _can't_," I said. "We _can't_ know true fear or happiness or comfort or death because all of those things are just what we believe them to be. We know our feelings, but to even give them a name is to be like those priests. There is a tension between what we actually feel and what we believe that we feel; between what is true and what is divine."

"So you think that the proper course of action is to ignore that tension?"

And this is where I lied again.

"Yes. Trying to resolve it is impossible, pointless, possibly dangerous. We should be content with what we know but do not understand. Since we cannot learn understanding, we must learn control."

I was parroting, almost word for word, something that a colleague back at the Ethereal Academy had once told me. He was an idiot. Saying his words again made me convinced, again, of how much of an idiot he was.

Circe told me a story of her own. When she was a young girl, she was given a ribbon to wear in her hair like her mother. Her mother, obviously proud to see her daughter emulating her, cried tears of joy when she saw young Circe dressed so.

"I know what happiness feels like for me, even if I can't describe it. And I can feel it in others even if I can't articulate how. I think you're missing the point of your story."

I was enraptured. She turned her eyes on me, and suddenly she was taking _me_ in, instead of the surroundings. I could feel her absorbing something fundamental about my perception and sense of self. I felt, for just a moment (such a sharp moment!) that it was difficult to tell where I ended and she began.

"Which is?"

"That the priests continued to try and sense the dreams of the dying and that they continued to record them even if they knew they couldn't describe them completely. If, like you say, they couldn't understand what they were feeling…they continued to try it anyway. Why would they do that?"

Impossible. Impossible that she should ask the same questions that I continue to ask about the story.

"Does it matter? It was a great waste of time…"

She interrupted me and drove my own point into me – a graceful parry and a stunning riposte.

"But why would they do it? Why?"

I locked eyes with her and saw that I was wrong. We were never one. She is not me – there is not an Ardell Noir inside of her that I long to know.

Her eyelids drooped heavily over half of her eyes. Calm-faced, smirking pleasantly with the joy a person feels when they are winning an argument, I could see that what she was saying was not at all personal for her. She was simply trying to make me see something that she believed I had missed. That was it. There was no connection between us.

She is Circe Estrade. Who is she? Underneath her desire to educate me, what motivations are there? What is she thinking?

"I don't know," I said, partly to answer her question and partly in regards to _her gaze_.

The wilderness grows, breathes, chatters around us as we lay around the fire. Almost without any regard for our existence, life continues; this strange wilderness could consume us in our sleep – and would there be a difference between that state and the state that we exist in now? All around us, all of us, exists a world of other people who have their own thoughts, fears, ecstasies, secrets, desires…I will know that world, too, just as I will know the Labyrinth.

Crimson. I will feed this fire within me. Nothing will escape my pursuit. That will be my mantra while we explore the Labyrinth.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxx

Maurice guffaws from the opposite end of the bar. He is talking with a group of people who you recognize. Renee is among them. She smiles at you when you look up at her. She must have been watching you for a long time. You wonder why she didn't come over to you and say hello. Perhaps she knew that you were reading your journals, comparing notes, and she didn't want to disturb you. Perhaps she is having too much fun with Maurice and her other friends. It's impossible to know, but either way she's smiling at you now and winking at you from over a tankard of ale.

Whatever Renee is thinking right now is private to her, and whatever you are thinking right now is private to you, but what is happening between the two of you is somehow both private and public between the two of you. That same thing occurred between Ardell and Circe many years ago, you think. You wonder if Ardell will ever know what Circe was seeing in the moon shadowed trees or if Circe will ever know what occurred within Ardell when the firelight washed across his pupils.

They fooled each other. They both assumed in the end that they had reached a misunderstanding or a disconnection…but in reality, they'd been very close to one another. Together, but alone in the Labyrinth.

Now that you have two journals, perhaps you should begin to read both. But you don't think that you'll read the same days next to one another for a long time, if ever again. Your progress through the journals would slow to a standstill for one thing, and for another it is a mentally exhausting process to make comparisons. But by switching back and forth every few days, you'll gain a perspective on the legendary Guild Crimson that possibly no one alive has ever had before.

You close Ardell's journal and place it, along with Circe's, into your satchel. Pushing your empty dinner plate forward on the bar, you stand up from your stool and walk to join Renee and her friends in their merry-making.


End file.
